


Overworked and Underpaid

by avianbrother



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-DMC5, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianbrother/pseuds/avianbrother
Summary: Fresh out of Hell, Dante receives a welcome back present from Morrison in the form of you, the new accountant and assistant of Devil May Cry. Between managing the finances and handling two brothers who can't talk about their feelings, you've got your work cut out for you. But hey, what's the worst that could happen?





	Overworked and Underpaid

Dante propped his legs on his desk as he got comfy, relaxing for the first time since he made it back from the underworld.

“Ah, it’s good to be back,” he sighed. Vergil merely hummed in agreement, leaning against the staircase railing.

He wasn’t sure why exactly he was there; he and Dante may have reached a truce but the running of the little business was none of his concern. Lady and Trish were already gone for the day, leaving only him, Dante, and Morrison, who said he had plans to discuss. But it seemed Dante had already forgotten that part, too busy stuffing his face with old pizza.

“Thanks for looking after the place,” said Dante, brushing some crumbs from his chin. “Glad to see it didn’t burn down while I was gone.”

Morrison sat on the edge of the desk and chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. I have a bit of a…’welcome back’ surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Well, since you don’t know how to manage a dime in this place, I’ve brought in some help.”

Dante frowned and straightened up. “I’ve kept Devil May Cry running just fine without any help.”

Morrison scoffed. “Yeah, barely.” Vergil felt a twinge of satisfaction at watching his brother get scolded.

“And it doesn’t matter what you think,” Morrison continued, “because I’ve already hired her. She’ll be coming by tomorrow. She’s a friend of mine who’s done work for me before and she knows about most of this demon shit. Not too much of a fighter, but I guarantee she’ll make sure the rent is paid.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say.” Dante watched Morrison leave, hoping that whoever this new hire was would be worth it.

***

You were nothing like what Dante expected. He almost thought you were a customer when you strolled in around noon. When he heard Morrison say you were a friend, he expected someone older with greying hair and oversized glasses, or maybe a sexy secretary type like in his magazines (as if he’d be that lucky). You’re young, around Nero’s age but he can’t tell for certain, and dressed casually instead of the tight pencil skirt and blouse combo the pictures always use. A leather messenger bag, filled to bursting, was slung across one shoulder.

After giving the room a cursory glance, you came right over to his desk and stuck out your hand. “Mister Dante, I’m assuming? Morrison sent me,” you said.

“Just ‘Dante’ is fine,” he said, shaking your hand. The two of you stood awkwardly as you separated. He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed you up. “So, uh…I know you’re here to help and all but he didn’t specify _what_ your job is.”

“He asked me to do your books,” you explained. “Balance the money, make a budget, all that jazz.”

Oh, well that was simple enough. Despite his appearance, Dante wasn’t a complete fool and he was capable of filing reports and counting the money; it was crunching all the costs and planning for future expenses that left him at a loss. If you handled those responsibilities then it would free time for more important things. Like napping or beating the shit out of Vergil. Perhaps hiring you was a smart move after all.

“Where do you wanna start, Miss Smarty Pants?”

You looked at the papers that were scattered across the desk and floor of his “office.” A small stack of what was probably mail and invoices was shoved to one side. Not a single filing cabinet in sight and no shelves for documents if you had to take a guess. It was bad but it wasn’t the worst disaster you were sent to fix. It was doable.

“For now you can show me where you keep your financial records—any receipts, bills, and balance sheets.”

“Right, okay. Uh…” Dante began gathering all the papers together. He had an idea what most of it was and tried to separate it into little piles on the desk. You set down your bag and flipped through them, noting with a frown that there were plenty of bills but no bank statements or payment slips.

“Do you do everything in paper? I have a laptop if I need it but I’d prefer to use whatever computer or system you have.”

“Not everything, I should have one here somewhere.” He may be old but he wasn’t a luddite.

He rifled through the drawers and found an old computer he had bought for cheap at a junk sale. It wasn’t the fastest machine and connection in the shop wasn’t great, but it had plenty of space and a working charger, which was really all you needed. He handed it to you and you booted it up, easily finding the spreadsheet program he’d used a few times.

Dante settled in his chair and pulled out a magazine to read while you grabbed everything you needed. Okay so he wasn’t _really_ reading, but he didn’t want to be obvious about watching you while he waited for you to do your thing. After a few minutes you stopped and sort of just sized the place up.

You skimmed over the pin-ups plastered on the wall behind him and the guns. The trophies and demon heads gave you pause but you were curious more than anything. Morrison gave you the rundown prior to sending you, and he’d told you stories long before that about his buddy the demon hunter. The ever present trash and lack of organization bothered you the most—really, he calls this place a business?—though even that wasn’t too much for you to handle.

“Now that that’s taken care of, should I give you the grand tour?” asked Dante, drawing your attention. You nodded.

“Lead the way, boss.” He smiled at that. Boss, huh? Had a nice ring to it.

Given the openness of the main floor, you’d seen the majority of the building. Still, he pointed out where everything was and led you upstairs.

“This over here is my room. If you ever stop by and can’t find me, you can check in there. That’s the bathroom—it’s got a shower for washing off demon crap. Getting covered in blood happens a lot around here but you’ll get used to it.”

Another door was open at the end of the hall and you stopped to peer inside as Dante kept talking. It was pretty bare bones; a small bed, a chair, and a bookcase occupied the space. A silvery-haired man lounged in the chair reading a book, so silent and unmoving you almost didn’t notice him. You didn’t realize you were staring either until Dante popped up beside you.

“And _that_,” he gestured to the man, “is my dear grumpy brother.”

“And _you_ are a nuisance,” said the man, snapping his book shut and glaring at his twin. He moved with fluid grace to stand and greet you. Like Dante, he looked you over, though his gaze was judging, calculating, _cold_. A shiver ran through you.

“You must be Mister Vergil then,” you guessed. He didn’t correct you.

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. You had manners, something which was sorely lacking at the shop, though it was going to take more than that to impress him. “Yes. And you are the little babysitter they sent to clean up Dante’s messes, aren’t you? I wish you luck.”

It was unclear whether he meant it as an insult to you or his brother. You weren’t about to let a little condescension bother you.

“Let’s just hope I don’t have to clean up any of yours,” you said politely, the underlying threat clear: _stay out of my way_.

That seemed to amuse him, because he let out a quiet huff and gave a slight nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he turned his attention back to Dante, “I’m trying to gather everything useful in your pitiful excuse of a library.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” said Dante, already heading for the stairs when Vergil shut the door in your faces. “Fucking dick.”

You took one last look at the door and then trailed behind him. “What a ray of sunshine. Is he always like that?”

Dante shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. We’re usually too busy trying to kill each other to chit chat. He’s always been a bit of a tight-ass, if that answers your question.”

He led you to a door that was caddy corner to his desk. “And for the final leg of our tour—here’s the basement.” Right inside dangled a bulb that turned on with the pull of a cord, illuminating a wooden staircase. “It’s mostly for storage. Trish and Lady crash down there too sometimes, so uh, maybe ask before you touch anything.”

He shut off the light and went back to his desk, slouching once more in his chair. You pondered what you’d seen then took a notepad from your bag as you settled amongst the mountain of papers.

“So you have, what, three tenants? Employees?” you asked, making notes. Four people under one roof should be more than enough to cover rent and necessities.

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t call them employees.”

You stopped writing. “What do you mean?”

He scratched his beard, tilting his head in thought. “We kinda have an arrangement going on, I guess. Lady and Trish help with jobs, and they get to hang around. I don’t, you know, _pay_ them but I don’t charge them rent. Trish doesn’t need to eat or sleep, either.”

You nodded along. “Right, the demon thing. Morrison mentioned that.” Cutting the food budget might be possible. On the upside, you didn't have to worry about budgeting payroll either. “What about Mister Grumpy upstairs, Vergil?”

Dante barked out a laugh. “_Vergil?_ He’s half the reason we take jobs—been a fucking thorn for years. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why he’s here and I don’t think he does either. I thought he’d split once we got back from the underworld.”

He went quiet for a moment, gears turning in his head. “Maybe he’s trying to stick close to Nero after everything that’s happened. He’s been…popping in and out since we made it home, hiding up there with his books then disappearing for a few hours each day. Haven’t seen him eat or sleep in…fuck, who knows how long.”

_Eat? Sleep?_ You wrote beside Vergil’s name on your notepad. It was weird, trying to familiarize yourself with people who didn’t need to take care of themselves, who simply _existed_. But Morrison said the folks at Devil May Cry were weird, and hell, the city was full of some pretty fuckdamn weird shit that happened on a near yearly basis. It made your job easier in the long run, you supposed.

***

The next several hours were spent transcribing every single receipt and bill by date on the spreadsheet, calculating expenses, pinpointing where money was coming and going in this shithole. It became clear that food and rent were the biggest drains, followed by the usual tools and pieces for handy jobs. There was nothing spent on ammunition, which shouldn’t have bothered you except you knew for a fact that these guys were _demon hunters_, one of whom had a fucking _rocket launcher_, and all those bullets had to come from somewhere unless they were using some kind of dark magic that granted infinite ammo (which was very much possible but you still didn’t want to think about it).

Dante was quiet, reading his magazines and nursing a beer, subtly observing you as you worked. Your brows furrowed in concentration, and every now and then you scrunched your nose as you tried to read tiny, faded print. Only the shuffle of papers, the gentle clacking of the keyboard, and the ever-present rock music that played in the background broke the silence. A couple times he opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it.

Dante’s dealings with women were always hit-or-miss (mostly miss), and usually involved him getting shot or bitched at. Part of him wanted to break out the playful banter, toy with you and figure you out like a cat with a box of string, because you were something new and different. But he didn’t want to say something and be rewarded with a slap to the face (at best) and free help walking out. So he had to play it cool. Yeah, he could do that. Chicks dug that.

***

When time had ticked by and Trish and Lady finally sauntered in, you were too deep in your thoughts to notice them at first. The two hunters noticed you immediately, their conversation coming to a halt. They stared at you for a few seconds before you looked up, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of them haloed by the cheap lights above.

Morrison had described them as “crazy warrior bitches” and to an extent he was right. Their auras and the way they carried themselves screamed danger, like they could kill you right then and there without breaking a nail. All romantic and sexual preferences aside, they were beautiful, _stunning_. Once you stopped gaping like an idiot, you stood and introduced yourself, which made Lady smile.

“Oh, so you’re the one Dante was talking about,” she said. “Finally, someone who’ll keep the water running in this dump.”

Trish was assessing you the same as Vergil did, but her face softened once she decided you weren’t a threat and even returned your polite smile. “I hope Dante hasn’t given you a hard time,” she said. “Big boy over there can be a real handful at times.”

“If you’re gonna bitch about it you can fucking leave, you know,” said Dante with a frown.

“No, everything’s been fine,” you assured her. “It might take longer than I thought to get the shop back on track.” You swept your arm over the stacks to prove your point.

“Good luck with that,” said Lady. “Money has never been our strong suit.”

_That was an understatement_.

You checked the clock on your screen; it was already late in the day and you were nowhere near done. When you looked back, Lady and Trish had wandered off, no longer trapping you in forced pleasantries. It was the perfect time for you to make your escape.

Your joints snapped and popped as you stretched, then you gathered your things and nudged the laptop and filing aside.

“Oh, you done already?” asked Dante, seeming almost disappointed.

“Not yet. I’ll be back tomorrow—it’s gonna take more than a day or two to get it all sorted out.” You sent a quick text to Morrison letting him know you were packing up for now.

“Sure, got it. You just get home safe, I guess,” said Dante, waving you off. You shot him a smile and a ‘see you later’ before shutting the door behind you.

The sun was hanging low in the sky when you stepped outside. Sunset wouldn’t be for a while still, so you had plenty of light to walk home. You’d left your car at home; getting gas was hard nowadays, and it didn’t come cheap. The branches, roots, whatever you wanted to call them, that had spread from Red Grave City into town had destroyed gas and power lines and water mains. That was months ago, and the surrounding area was still recovering.

You passed by a group of construction workers, some of them nodded in acknowledgement and you nodded back. Their faces were drawn, tired. Everyone had that same look. Feelings of loss and pain were fresh in their hearts and yours too.

Over the years, strange happenings and demon attacks had forced people to leave, either out of fear or because they had nothing left. Even your own family, which had lived in the same neighboring city for generations, abandoned the area. You stayed. Not that you weren’t scared. In fact, you were terrified—you kept a knife and a spiked bat because the possibility of being caught alone with demons was all too real—but you made peace with that fear. If you died, you died. You weren’t about to let forces that weren’t even _human_ wrestle away what you had built for yourself, however meager it was. You would sooner die on that hill of defiance, and barring that, rebuild from what was left.

That was the essence of human nature, you supposed, holding together in the face of calamity. And when all was said and done, you crawled out of the rubble and stacked up the bricks and stones and moved on. The scars would be there in the landscape and in memory, but it wouldn’t be the end.

You diverted around scaffolding that jutted out the front of one building then climbed over a small pile of debris that had yet to be cleared.

It was probably that tenacity that got you the job, now that you thought of it. From what Morrison said, Dante was a pretty good guy, often did jobs for free for folks that couldn’t afford it, but made up for it with a cocky attitude and property damage. Morrison couldn’t get anyone else to say yes despite the fact Dante saved the whole city (possibly the _world_).

Devil May Cry wasn’t the worst place to be, all things considered. Lady and Trish were nice enough and wouldn’t be much of a bother. Dante was…well, he reminded you of every college-aged bachelor and cocky shit-heel you’d ever met, but he must have some level of competence to take down a giant fucking demon blood-tree. And at least he didn’t grab your ass or tell you to smile. Vergil was the one that worried you. He came off like a brooding emo shut-in, yet the way he’d looked at you, like you were a bug under his heel, was unsettling even though you played it off.

Morrison said there was bad blood between the twins. He also made it clear that, should worst come to worst, to go to Dante or Nero if things got dangerous. You had yet to meet the younger Sparda, but you had to trust in him and Dante both. Just trust that things would be okay.

You made it to the row of townhouses where you lived. A couple of the neighbor kids were playing outside under the watchful eye of one of the mothers. The scene looked almost normal. You smiled at them.

Yeah, things would be okay.

***

Things were _not_ okay.

You were going to kill him. You were going to string him up by his boots so maybe, just maybe, blood would flow to that little peanut brain of his.

“It can’t be _that_ bad, right?” said the man in question. You took a deep breath, hands pressed together as you tried so desperately to calm yourself.

“Dante… if you didn’t make as little money as you do, you’d be arrested for tax evasion.”

“Wait, we can evade those?” said Nero, looking up from cleaning Blue Rose.

You sighed. “Yes Nero, sweet darling boy, you can. Something your lazy ass uncle has apparently been doing for years.”

Dante took offense, rising from his chair. “Screw you! It’s not like I had somebody teaching me how to do all this shit. I’m trying to keep a roof over our heads, so why don’t you lay off with the ‘lazy’ bit, alright?”

You crossed your arms and shifted awkwardly, willing to concede that but not backing down completely. The air in the room was tense. Nero watched from the sidelines, waiting to see who would crack first.

In the three days you’ve been working at Devil May Cry, your opinion of Dante spiraled downward as you untangled the financial mess he was in and seemed to be making no effort to fix.

“Fine,” you replied, which soothed his bristling temper. He settled back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand. The grimace didn’t leave his features.

“Dante,” you began, slowly and carefully, “you can’t keep going like this. You can’t let people skip out with IOU’s when there’s bills to pay.”

“I’m not gonna shake them down for money they don’t have,” he said rather sheepishly. You gave him a firm look.

“Then you set up a payment plan, ask for a little at a time. It’s better than not getting paid at all. And another thing—” you walked over to the fridge and held it open, pointing at the cartons of strawberry ice cream and leftover pizza stuffed inside, “Seriously? You’re blowing half your fucking budget living off Jack Daniels and pizza. The pool table and juke box and all that, I understand, but you can buy plenty of food in bulk, dude.”

“Yeah, but…I like pizza,” he pouted, looking less like a kicked puppy and more like an overgrown lion with a thorn in its paw.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re killing me here. Just—please, _please_ try to stick to the budget I’m setting up. I know it sucks but I’m not forcing you to eat ramen packs every day, okay?”

Dante gave a little huff but nodded, allowing you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Good, that was over with. You picked up the stack of file boxes and started hauling them upstairs.

Dante sank in his chair and ruefully watched your retreating form. Things had soured much faster than anticipated. He wasn’t the most financially savvy, sure, but he had other things going for him. At least you hadn’t slapped him yet. Nero scoffed and Dante glared, daring him to open his mouth. The kid knew better than to incur your wrath or his uncle’s, but it couldn’t stop him from smirking at the old man.

A quick peek told you the spare room was empty, giving you the chance to scuttle in and start shelving. Since the first day, you hadn’t seen or heard from Vergil. The room had a bed, but he never used it, and the room didn’t really belong to him anyway. Which made it free-fucking-real estate, baby. Between going through all the files and punching everything into the computer, you managed to sort it all into neat little folders and binders that were labeled for convenience (and so Dante didn’t have an excuse for putting shit in the wrong place).

As you nudged the door behind you, you noticed a second shelf off to one side that you couldn’t see before. You looked at the other bookcase, old leather-bound books leaning against each other and placed with seemingly little care or organization, and said to yourself, “Yeah, better not.”

Unpacking and shelving took no time at all. You looked back at the opposite bookcase once more, curiosity getting the better of you as you perused the collection. There were occult books, some written in Latin and splashed with woodcut illustrations of demons and hell. Kind of creepy but it _was_ a demon hunter’s shop, after all. You found old reference books and manuals that hadn’t been touched in years judging by the thick layers of dust on them. What surprised you was the large collection of classics—Shakespeare, Homer, Chaucer, Orwell—the kind of titles you’d see on a required reading list at school. There were works by Poe, Oscar Wilde, and Thoreau as well. None of them were first editions or anything fancy, but they looked well-loved, with pieces of ribbon marking the pages. Vergil must have been the one reading them, though why Dante had them in the first place was a mystery.

You arranged the books on the shelf, simply separating them by type and making sure they were upright instead of stacked wonkily. Even you didn’t have the patience for doing them in alphabetical order or whatever Dewey decimal bullshit you’d learned in school and promptly forgotten. Once finished, you spent a second admiring your work before picking up the file boxes to take back, and you spotted something at the bottom. You frowned and pulled it out to see what it was, and—

Oh. _Oh_.

It must have fallen or gotten mixed in by accident. Warmth spread across your cheeks as you studied the cover. The picture wasn’t full-frontal, but the woman’s outfit left little to the imagination and there was some pretty hefty side-boob with perky nip action going on. What else did you expect from a smut mag? And that’s certainly what it was, not that you recognized the title. And it was clearly Dante’s because you’d seen him reading at his desk, just…nothing this lewd.

You weren’t innocent. You had your own fantasies and a few sites saved on your computer that you would never ever admit to. It was fap material either way, whether it was hard copy or not. So why were you so nervous? Because it was his? This was an invasion of privacy, sure, but you hadn’t meant to and…you were kind of curious what he was ogling all the time.

A little peek wouldn’t hurt.

The pictures inside were far less tame, it was porn, plain and simple, yet you were disappointed by how _vanilla_ it was. You thought someone as cocky and deep in demon blood like Dante would be into something spicier like bondage or exhibitionism. Maybe you were unlucky and found one of his less interesting mags.

You skipped over the ads and the rest of the pics until you came to a page that caught your eye. _Tips for the Bedroom_ read the header. Some of it was basic shit like “focus on the clit” or positions to try. One tip mentioned propping a pillow under a girl’s hips to get a better angle, complete with a diagram showing where to place it. You mentally filed that away for later. At the bottom of the page was advice that made you scoff.

_Perfect her deepthroat technique! Have her squeeze her left thumb in a tight fist to turn off her gag reflex!_

Pfft. What a load of bullshit. Then again…you’d seen the same advice online, plenty of people claimed it worked.

Maybe…

You formed a fist with one hand and tentatively opened your mouth.

Now normally you had the common sense not to go trying strange things you read from questionable sources, but you were alone and still a combination of young and occasionally horny, which meant your number of collective brain cells in that moment were zero.

With the index finger of your other hand, you gingerly probed around until you hit the back of your throat. Huh. Okay. You slid in as deep as your body would allow, past where any dick had gone before, wiggling your digit around for good measure. Deepthroating wasn’t your forte but hey, nothing like wanting to suck dick like a champion and bring a guy to his knees (figuratively or literally). After a minute, you felt brave and added a second finger. You made a noise of triumph when it seemed like your gag reflex wasn’t going to act up.

Success!

“Hey, you up there?” Dante shouted, calling your name.

In your panic you jolted, causing a train wreck of events where you gagged and nearly choked on your own fingers and probably your stupidity too as you coughed and teared up. The sound of him coming up the stairs, and the fear that he might catch you, granted you the strength to overcome the pain and tears so you could save your dignity. You buried the magazine at the bottom of the box once more and nested the others on top, shoving it all in a corner just in time for Dante to stick his pretty head in the door.

“Can you come down? Gotta talk to you about something.”

You nodded and stood. Then you coughed. Then you coughed again, eyes watering a bit as you covered your mouth and ducked your head.

Dante stared, squinting as he looked you over. The coughing stopped but the damage was done and you were sweating bullets, scared that he knew what you’d been doing.

“You alright?” he asked. You waved it off as casually as you could, hoping you didn’t look too flustered.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s dusty in here, is all,” you fibbed. “A glass of water and I’ll be fine.”

He must’ve fell for because his expression turned apologetic. “Sorry about that, we kinda forget to clean in there. I’ll get to it eventually.”

Doubtful.

You followed him back downstairs, where he scooped up a pair of keys from his desk and tossed them to you.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Got called for a job so the girls and I will be gone for a week. I was planning on getting you a set anyway. If you need anything, just call Nero or Nico, and remember to lock up after you, got it?”

“Got it. But what do you want me to do in the meantime?”

Dante stopped and thought, only to shrug and keep packing for the upcoming job. “I don’t know. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said with a smile.

***

“Step on my clean floors and I will rip your fucking legs off.”

Vergil froze in the doorway. That wasn’t the greeting he expected. In fact, he didn’t expect anyone to be there _at all_.

The words had popped out automatically at the sound of the door opening. In hindsight, probably not the way best way to greet anyone who could be a potential customer, but _really_ not a good way to say hi to Vergil. You didn’t realize the mistake until you looked up and saw him standing there.

You had a stunned, deer-in-the-headlights expression before you frowned and continued mopping. “Either take your boots off or come in another way,” you said in an attempt to hide your nerves.

A small gust of wind brushed past you, and when you looked up again you saw Vergil standing at the base of the stairs. To your surprise, there wasn’t a single footprint or track left in his wake.

“Or that. That works too,” you muttered.

Vergil said nothing, only stared at you as you worked. Your hair was wrapped in a cloth to keep it out of your face. You wore a dust mask and gloves, and you had little covers on your feet. Your appearance and harsh comment stood in sharp contrast to when he’d first met you, calling him “mister” and tucked amongst the papers like a mouse. Perhaps being around his brother sucked all the manners and good behavior out of you. Dante had a talent for frustrating others.

Your brows furrowed in concentration as you polished the wood floors to a shine.

Taking a moment to look around, Vergil noticed how clean the shop was. No more cobwebs in the corners or garbage littering the room. The wood trim was back to a brilliant white and the very walls seemed less dingy than before. Even the railing had been cleaned and polished.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted aloud, making you stop and regard him.

“Making the most of it while Dante’s out. Someone’s gotta get this place in shape.” You started again. “Might as well be me.”

The wariness and tension in your form was still present yet lessened.

He continued upstairs, leaving you to your devices. He felt your gaze on his back for a second or two before it disappeared.

It was strange, this new life he chose to lead. No longer chasing that power he’d spent years trying to attain, but not entrenched with humanity like Dante and Nero. He was perched at the edge, overlooking a sea of possibilities—what to do, who to be, how to rebuild a relationship with a son he didn’t know he had—but not taking that final step forward. He didn’t like uncertainty or feeling like he wasn’t in control. Coming to the shop and reading, stewing over his thoughts, kept him close to his family…even if he was unsure how to engage with them. It was a start.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem particularly talkative or prying; he wouldn’t have to worry about you nosing your way into his business, or worse, trying to make small talk with him.

The fact that your quiet was fueled in part by fear was not lost on him.

Walking into the spare room, he immediately noticed a change. Someone had moved the books. He frowned, inspecting the bookcase for any missing copies only to find that everything was surprisingly intact. More than that, the books were _orderly_. Although it took a moment to find what he was looking for, he was pleased. He thumbed through the pages until he was where he left off. Just as he turned to settle in his chair, he paused.

Did you do this? You must have, diligent worker bee that you were.

He stepped out and peered over the railing, mouth open in question, but the words died in his throat.

You were too focused to notice his already quiet movements. You stopped to undo the cloth around your hair and wipe the sweat from your forehead, and you slid the dust mask down so you could breathe easy for a minute or two before you busied yourself once more. The song on the jukebox switched, and you bobbed your head to the rhythm.

Another time, he decided, taking a last lingering look at you before retreating to the comfort of his books.

***

Dante let out a low whistle. “I knew you’d think of something but damn, didn’t expect you to scrub the place from top to bottom. You’ve got the old girl looking like new.”

“Wait til you see the bathrooms,” you mumbled over the rim of your coffee mug. They called to let you know they’d be back later that evening, so you fueled yourself with caffeine to ensure you’d be awake for their arrival.

“Speaking of bathrooms, I call first dibs on the shower,” said Lady, who was caked in demon blood. Trish, on the other hand, was immaculate as always.

Dante smiled, warm and sincere. You stood so he could take his spot at his desk, and as he passed by, he gave you a firm pat on the shoulder. “Seriously kid, you did great.”

You returned the smile, raising your mug in a small cheer. “Thanks, boss. How about you guys? Job went fine, I’m guessing.”

His smile turned to a toothy grin. He pulled out a check, waving it triumphantly. “It’s not cash up front, but I’d say we brought home the bacon.”

You snatched it from him, leaning against the wall and sipping your coffee while you looked over the numbers. Dante plopped into his chair and shucked off his coat.

“Lower than your usual rate for a job,” you pointed out. His confidence never wavered.

“Guy couldn’t pay it all at once, so I told him we could do half now and the rest next month,” he explained.

You scoffed. “Did you now?” He frowned and you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I did. Said there’d be hell to pay if he didn’t.”

Dante shot you that smirk of his. Keeping a straight face was impossible, a chuckle escaping you as you shook your head and handed the check back.

“Gimme his number and I’ll call in a few weeks to remind him,” you said. He nodded, popped his feet on the desk like usual and relaxed, content as a cat in its favorite windowsill.

“Easy. Anything exciting happen while we were gone?” You shrugged.

“Eh. Cleaned house. Killed a couple bugs. Saw Vergil for maybe five minutes before he disappeared again.”

“Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Oh, and some chick named Patty keeps calling for you, says it’s super important.”

Dante groaned, glaring at the ceiling in frustration. “Kid doesn’t know when to quit, does she?”

“I’ll, uh, add her to the block list, then?”

He sighed. “Nah, she’s harmless. Pain in my ass, but harmless. Used to come in and nag and clean up around here.”

You snorted at that. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job? Maybe I’ll tag off, have her put in a little work.”

“Don’t you _dare_,” he said, though there wasn’t much threat behind it. “She’s probably got a life of her own with school and whatever teenagers do.” He paused, considering. “’Sides, you’re a better package deal.”

You floundered, gaping like a fish because _what the hell was that supposed to mean_?

Your confusion and mild shock went unobserved, his attention diverted elsewhere. You nervously finished your coffee, trying not to think too hard about what was surely just an idle comment, an acknowledgement that you did a hell of a lot more than nag and clean. Rinsing your cup in the sink by the bar, you looked over your shoulder.

“Need anything before I leave for the night?” You had errands to run and wanted to be home before it got too late.

“All good here. Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

You said your goodbyes and went out to your car. A week of deep cleaning and fixing up the shop left you sore and the achiness outweighed your desire to save gas money. But if your hard work made everyone happy, that’s all that mattered, right?

***

You made it in and out of the store just before they closed.

Summer was waning and it was getting dark earlier each day. Driving out of the shopping district, you left the safety of bright lights and neon signs.

It’s peaceful. Quiet. Some of the roads were still partially blocked for construction or closed off entirely, so you were stuck taking back routes and minor detours.

Then you felt the collision, the rumble of something going under the wheels, making your veer off and come to a screeching halt along the side of the road. You hadn’t seen anything in front of you, and whatever had rolled under felt much, _much_ bigger than a critter. In the reflection of your mirrors, you saw a dark, vague shape on the ground, about the size of a person.

Not good. _Really_ not good.

Unbuckling from your seat, you stepped halfway out before you stopped and considered your next actions. You reached for the backseat and grabbed your bat. No siree, you did not trust like that. This is how people died in horror movies.

You carefully approached the shape, grip tight on your bat. Leaving a good two feet of distance between you and it, you were able make out that, well, it wasn’t a _person_. It looked like a lump of meat covered in a scaly hide. A small puddle of blood was forming under it and the smell of rot filled the air. The thing didn’t move, even when you leaned over and poked it with the tip of your bat. Whatever it was, it’s harmless now, you decided as you turned towards your car.

You took three steps before you realized your mistake.

A bug-eyed demon crashed down on the trunk of your car, mouth splitting open to let out a piercing shriek. After a split second of internal panic, you took up your bat and swung like you were Joe-fucking-DiMaggio. The spiked end collided with a meaty _thunk_ and knocked the ugly bastard down.

“_Back off!_” you snarled.

Goddamn demons jumping on _your_ car, ruining _your_ commute home like they had nothing better to do in the middle of the fucking night.

Another bug boy rose up beside you and you gave him the same treatment as his buddy, landing a direct hit upside the head and spattering blood across the road. There was something cathartic about beating the shit out of things, just going absolutely _buckwild_ as you whacked them to death. You kind of understood why Dante and crew enjoyed this business.

Your hubris got the best of you. What started as two suddenly became four, five, _six_ demons circling you like sharks at an all-you-can-eat buffet. The nearest one was a scaly lizard creature with a chunk missing from its flank. It reached with a clawed hand that you knocked away with your bat, then you swung where its flesh was exposed. The thing didn’t go down, no it was too tough for that, but you had an opening now as it writhed in pain.

You bolted down the street, vaulting over barriers and slipping around blind corners until you came to a tight alley. Wooden pallets and a dumpster stood at the end, and you ducked behind them to shield yourself from view. Scrabbling sounds and cries told you the demons weren’t far. If you were lucky and stayed hidden long enough, they might lose interest and you could sneak back to the car.

Then it got quiet. The only sound was the light rasp of your exhausted breaths. A shadow, warped by the angle of the streetlights, cast over the alley walls. You readied your bat. You didn’t dare stick your head out, for fear that whatever it was would find you. There were no footsteps. You waited. Something shifted the pallets near your shoulder, and you swung, stepping out from cover to strike your stalker.

He caught it, halting your bat mid-swing.

“Holy shit, Vergil, don’t scare me like that! I thought you were one of those creeper demon things.”

Vergil let out a soft hum, ignoring your words in favor of examining your weapon. He raised a brow and gave a gentle tug, wordlessly asking permission. You blinked owlishly at him yet relinquished it, using the opportunity to lean against the dumpster and catch your breath.

He steadied it in his hand, feeling the heft of it. The tip wasn’t wrapped in barbed wire or nails like he first thought. Instead it was wrapped in three iron bands, each lined with thick spikes for tearing flesh like an improvised mace. Crude but effective.

“So, what are you doing here?” you asked as he returned your weapon. He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to see what was left of the demons that had spawned.

“I sensed their presence and dispatched them,” he answered, turning and starting back down the alleyway. You followed after, his pace slowing so you could catch up alongside him.

“I didn’t hear any gunshots.”

“I don’t use guns,” he said, voice thick with disdain.

“Oh.” You stared off in the distance. “That makes two of us, I guess.” You waggled your bat for emphasis. He let out a sound that could’ve been a chuckle but was too clipped and muted for you to tell. His lips twitched in amusement.

“I suppose so.” It wasn’t a compliment, he was really only humoring you, but the acknowledgment felt nice. He wasn’t giving you that mean, cold look anymore. He reminded you of a stray cat, prickly and avoidant. He moved like one too, smooth and hushed.

He somehow knew where your car was, and you wondered if he’d been watching you fight those demons. Those thoughts were shoved aside when you saw the state of your ride.

“Aw man, they busted it,” you moaned. The trunk was crunched in and the whole car leaned to one side, the poor tires along it flat like pancakes. You set down your bat and crouched to get a better look at the undercarriage. There were some scratch marks, but you couldn’t make out much else in the dark. “I hope they didn’t break the axel.”

You sighed and kicked a tire. You whipped out your phone and texted Nico as you grabbed your bag and groceries from inside. There were emergency supplies, but if anyone wanted to break into your busted-ass car to steal it, more power to them.

Vergil watched, shifting from foot to foot, uncertain what to do. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Not really.” His blank, unchanging expression prompted you to elaborate.

“I’ll have to see Nico about getting it fixed, but that’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow,” you said. “There’s no point asking her to come all the way out here when I can walk home in less time.”

You locked up the car and shouldered your bag, groceries in one hand and bat in the other.

“I will escort you, then,” he said.

You stopped, slowly turning to look at him. “What?”

He acted as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to say.

Shoulders squared, hand loosely gripping the hilt of his sword, he repeated very firmly, “I will escort you. It would be unwise to continue alone after a demon attack. And besides—” he stepped closer, “I do not think Dante would be happy if I left you and you were found dead tomorrow.”

Maybe it was the proximity and commanding tone, or the fact he made a very good point, but you agreed with a slight nod and barely audible, “Okay.”

He inclined his head. “Lead the way.”

Despite some initial awkwardness on your end, it was comforting having him there. If you had walked back alone, your tired and frazzled brain would’ve had you jumping at every suspicious sound or shadow. Once again, he slowed his pace to match yours with no complaints.

“Thank you,” you said after a while, remembering your manners.

“As I said, it would be foolish to let you journey alone at night.” Not only because of demons, he thought. He may have spent years anguishing in the underworld, but some things never changed. There are always those who prey on the innocent and unsuspecting.

A beat of silence, then he added, “And I suppose I should thank you as well.”

“Huh?” Your brows shot up. “For what?”

He mulled over his next choice of words. Compliments and expressing gratitude had never been his strong suit (and if you asked Dante, he’d say his brother didn’t have a lick of gratitude in him).

“For fixing my brother’s atrocious ‘library.’”

“Oh, that? I didn’t have anything better to do.” You really didn’t. After cleansing the shop and filing everything important, there wasn’t much left to occupy you. “It was no problem.”

“Still…it was appreciated.” And it was, though his tone failed to show it. After twenty years in Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people doing things without an ulterior motive or being asked. Even before that, he’d often found himself handling tasks because he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it properly.

Vergil fell silent, and you took his awkward thanks with a smile.

Closer to your home, the streets were better lit. In the incandescent glow, you could make out the details of the katana at his waist. The guard was black and gold, glinting in the low light, with a spotted pattern reminiscent of flowers or trees. White cord wrapped around the hilt. The scabbard was smooth jet-black wood, and a blue cord with flecks of gold tied it to his waist. It was almost terrifying how something so simple and elegant, so enchanting to look at, could cut through demons like they were no more than paper dolls.

“You’re staring.” His voice startled you, made you flush in embarrassment at your rudeness.

“O-oh, sorry,” you stammered. You eyed the weapon. “It’s beautiful. Your sword, I mean.”

He blinked, looking from you to the sword. Then he straightened up, a twinkle of pride in his eye. A thin smile graced his lips. He carefully untied it from his hip and unsheathed it, allowing you to see its full glory.

“The Yamato, the sharpest blade in existence, capable of cutting through anything. Even the fabric of space gives way to its power.” He returned it to its sheath. He exhaled, his gaze distant as he idly stroked the hilt with his thumb and the smile drifted from his face. “A gift from the Legendary Dark Knight, Sparda.”

There was pain beneath his wistfulness, an ache even you could sense. “Sparda was your dad, wasn’t he?” you asked. “Yours and Dante’s.”

Vergil nodded. You were silent, thinking. The only sounds were your footsteps and the soft rustle of the plastic bag in your hand.

“Everyone says there’s bad history between you guys,” you said eventually. “What happened, anyways? Why are you here now?”

The question made him tense, bristling with distrust. So much for not prying into his business. But when he looked at you, you merely stared up at him with gentle, curious eyes, not a hint of ill-intent. He sighed.

“Many things have happened between us,” he said. “To put it simply, Dante and I don’t agree on how to continue our father’s legacy. Dante chooses to dwell here, wasting his full potential and idling away fighting lesser demons. He does not _embrace_ our demonic heritage. I chose to pursue that power. We’ve fought against each other many times because of it…and together when necessary.”

“And then what? You guys worked it out?”

He scoffed. “Not nearly that simple. I’m sure you’ve met Nero, and you’re aware of our relation.”

“Kinda hard _not_ to see the family resemblance.”

“He’s an heir to the Sparda legacy, and he’s proven to be strong enough to handle me and Dante. But raw strength isn’t enough. He needs to be guided, tempered, if you will.”

“And you’re his dad, so that’s your job.”

He raised a brow. “Would you trust Dante to do it properly?” You had to give him that. “And we have some…unfinished business.”

You nodded along. It made sense. It was cold…but it made sense, you supposed.

Your home came into view. Up and down the street, windows were dark, all the reasonable working folk having gone to bed.

“This is my place over here.” You gestured to it with your bat. When you reached the door, you set down your groceries and bat, and fished out your keys. Vergil was an arm’s length away, standing guard. The lock clicked and you picked up your stuff, pausing in the doorway to look back at him.

“Thanks again for walking me back,” you said. He gave a slight nod in return. You opened your mouth, hesitating, uncertain, wanting to say more. When he started to leave, the words finally formed.

“Hey, Vergil?”

“Hmm?” He gazed expectantly at you.

“I don’t know a lot about your situation or all this demon stuff, but…don’t be so hard on Dante and Nero. They’re both good people, and even if family sucks sometimes, they just want things to be okay and the people they love to be happy.”

He frowned, his voice so firm you almost believed him when he said, “Happiness can’t coexist with duty. You wouldn’t understand.”

You should be offended, you should be angry at his matter-of-fact tone and the implication that you were too human, too simple, to understand his life. But you weren’t. You were too damn tired for this. Instead you sighed, gave him a weary look as you slipped inside. “If you say so. Goodnight, Vergil. Get home safe.”

You shut the door behind you.

He stayed there, waiting until he could no longer hear you or see your outline in the window. Then he waited a moment longer before drawing Yamato and slashing a portal. He stepped through, feeling the ripple of space as it wrapped around him like a blanket, empty yet comforting. It lasted only seconds, quickly withdrawing as he exited on the other side.

The rooftop overlooked Nero’s residence, but was far enough away that the young man wouldn’t sense his demonic presence. He’d come here once every night now, watching and thinking for an hour, sometimes more; his concept of time had been warped by his stay in Hell. Sitting back on the tiled roof, he could barely make out figures moving in the windows. Nero and Kyrie were still awake, no doubt. A light peeked out from the half-open garage door, and he knew Nico would be there working on some new weapon or gadget. It was peaceful.

Vergil scowled and let out a huff. _Happiness_. Of course you wouldn’t understand. No one understood. It wasn’t about seeking power for the sake of power. It was gaining the strength to end it all, the power not just to seal away Mundus and his ilk but to vanquish them entirely. Dante was busy destroying the shoots that sprouted when he could be tearing up the very roots of the problem. Their father had taken pieces of his own power to seal away evil and provide tools for the two of them, yet in that same motion, doomed himself and become too weak to protect them or…

Their mother. Vergil’s heart was in a vice, aching at the memory.

When they were in Hell destroying the Qliphoth, he and Dante spent time talking in the brief snatches of respite between fighting each other and the waves of demons. Well, Dante did most of the talking. He talked about what he’d been doing since their last encounter, how he met Nero, and the many advancements in the human world. But mostly he talked about their mother and their childhood. Vergil had grown up torn between two sides: despising himself for not being strong enough to protect her, despising _her_ when he suspected she’d abandoned him. To know that she had been searching for him, that she had loved him until her death, brought some solace. It didn’t ease the guilt of knowing he’d been unable to save her. Or the shameful realization that he had, unknowingly, abandoned Nero when he’d been accusing his own mother of the same.

Nero was the only thing keeping him close to Fortuna, and he suspected Dante knew this. His brother could take care of himself, and they’d certainly done enough “brotherly bonding” in Hell to last a few years. Vergil meant it when he told you it was his duty to mentor Nero, not only so he can live up to his Sparda heritage, but so the boy could protect his own loved ones.

The only problem with that plan was the fact he hadn’t gone to see Nero since he returned.

Vergil was more than ready to fight just as he promised he’d be, and he knew Nero would be capable of handling his..._intense_ teaching methods. No, that wasn’t the issue. It was the inevitable questions that would follow when they met face-to-face that concerned him. Questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer. Vergil couldn’t even _remember_ Nero’s mother—her name, what she looked like, what the two of them did—none of it. Then his son would surely ask _why_ he’d disappeared, and Vergil was not about to bare the truth of his failures.

And even before all that came the ultimate question: whether Nero would accept him in the first place.

Dante said he would, said that if Nero had gone so far as to break up their fight and tried to follow them into Hell then of course he’d accept them as family. Though not without giving them that “rebellious young gun bullcrap,” as Dante put it. At one point, Dante had asked if he would take their mother back after all these years, even if he still thought she’d left him. He didn’t have to think about it before he answered _yes, in a heartbeat_.

“There’s your answer,” Dante had said. But Eva had been warm, gentle, full of fire and love—things he could never be.

Vergil sighed and rubbed his temples. All these human emotions were overwhelming. How did Dante and Nero deal with it day in and day out?

The lights in the house went out, and the garage door slid shut for the night.

In the glimpses he caught of Nero with Kyrie, Nico, and the children they looked after, his son seemed…happy.

_That day, if our positions were switched... would our fates be different? Would I have your life, and you mine?_

If he and Dante were switched... would he have still fathered Nero? Would he have raised him, fought together side-by-side as father and son? Or would he have been alone, with Dante’s carefree attitude? Maybe not happy, but…would he be content in life?

He thought of your face, how you looked tired, worried, hurt, and _disappointed_ when he said what he did. Was there something he was missing?

Could he embrace his demonic heritage, achieve the limits of Sparda’s power, and still be happy?

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, please consider chipping in at my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/avianbrother)


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